Bringing Back the Dead
by drarryx
Summary: After he, the one she loves, has been dead for many years, an encounter with ancient mirror convinces Hermione she must do something about the pain she has been holding in so long. It starts with a trip to the library, as always for Hermione... but like the story itself, this library is dangerous. Adventure, excitement and a story sure to keep you reading, this fanfic has everythig
1. The Mirror of Erised

**Bringing Back the Dead**

_****A/N: This is my first ever Fremione written for Abby, a fan! Abby, I hope you like it, and other readers, I hope you like it too! _

Hermione walked slowly down the halls of Hogwarts Castle. It was late at night, but she was not breaking the rules, of course. Oh no, Hermione would never do anything of the sort. She was a woman now. She was allowed to wander the castle's corridors at night. She was merely visiting Hogwarts. Merely visiting it. She was here to help the students in preparation for their O.W.L's. Seeing as she had done so well on her own, the new headmaster of Hogwarts had called her here to help. But today had been her last day of helping, and tomorrow she would head back to her home. Back to her husband. Back to her new life. The one without… well… without _him. _

As Hermione walked, her fingers slid lightly across the stone walls, sliding silently as she headed in no particular direction. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know why she was wondering. But she did know that she could not sleep. Not here. Not in the last place which she had ever seen him.

Deep purple circles danced beneath her sunken eyes. Her bushy hair cascaded down her shoulders, a little bit limp with grease. Her ribs stuck out slightly, her hands and knees knobby. She bore almost no resemblance to her old self. Not now. Not after… not after… well, she didn't want to think about that.

As she turned the corridor, she saw that one of the classrooms had not been locked for the night. With nothing better to do, knowing that sleep would never come to her, she entered this room. It had tall windows, and moonlight drifted gently into the room, creating a beautiful, soft, light glow. It reminded her of a night very long ago. A beautiful night back when she had been a beautiful young girl. When she had been with him.

She stared out the window for a while, at the silky black night sky, before turning to look at the room around her. She did not recognize it, but that did not surprise her. She knew she didn't know everything about Hogwarts. No one did. Except maybe George and – she stopped that thought. No. She would not dare to think about it. Or else she might break down. Cry her soul out. Break her fragile bones with sobs so brutal they could cause death just by listening to them.

The thought of her dead carcass lying in the gentle moonlight, waiting to be found by a student about to enter for their next class, took over her mind and she settled in a strange kind of piece. At least this… vision… did not hurt to think about. It was not real. It would never be real. Fantasies are so much better than memories.

Now, Hermione turned, ready to leave the classroom and wander some more, but something in the corner caught her eye. Knowing she had all the time in the world and nothing to do with it, she walked silently over to the strange object. As she approached, she realized it was a mirror. She looked at its strange inscriptions, in words or maybe runes, which even she couldn't make out. But then, her eyes drifted down, into the mirror itself. With a gasp, she saw him, standing beside her, smiling, waving and laughing. Her head whipped around, but no one was there.

"Fred?" she whispered, tears shining in her eyes. She reached out her hand, pressing it flat against the cold surface of the mirror. Fred's hand was outstretched too. In the mirror, it was covering her own. In the mirror, he was kissing her neck, just like he used to. But in reality… in reality, there was nothing there. Nothing but the empty air.

And that was when she finally broke. After years of keeping it together, after years of pretending it was all alright, she broke. Sobs filled the room, so loud that they echoed in the empty night. Sobs that would wake students up in the dead of night where they would sit up groggily and listen, but their conscious mind not hear anything and wonder briefly, before drifting back off into sleep, what had taken those few moments of precious sleep from them. Sobs that were so full of pain and loss and lies and horror and every other brutal feeling Hermione had been keeping within herself for many, many years.

"Fred," she whispered through her tears. "Fred. Fred!"

Her whispers soon turned to cries of hysteria as she knelt on the floor, one hand pressed against the Mirror of Erised, the other reaching up absently, trying, and failing, always failing, to reach the one she loved.


	2. The Library

Hermione stood up, hours later, when she heard the bustle of noise around her, knowing that the castle was waking up. Slowly, she got to her feet. Long ago she had spent all of her tears, long ago had her wails died out, so that for hour upon hour all she was doing was sobbing dryly and silently, hunched over the ground, wishing upon wishes for Fred, _her _Fred, to come back.

Now, she stood up, her body frail, red eyes puffy from lack of sleep and from her crying, added to her disheveled feature. But, there was one thing about Hermione that nothing could change. One thing that no matter how much trauma she went though, would ever differ. And that was her need to go to the Library.

How Hermione managed to get out of the school without questioning, she didn't really know. She was in a sort of trance, she supposed, but she knew what she was doing and where she was going. Seeing him, Fred, last night in that mirror, seeing him so alive, so wonderful, so much like he had always been, had given her a wakeup call. She was determined to do the impossible. She was determined to do what everyone said was the one branch of life magic didn't cover. And she knew exactly what she needed to do.

Hermione turned down a corner, into a dusty side street. Knockturn Alley. She turned again, and found herself in the one section of Knockturn Alley that not even the most brutal witches or wizards dared to go. She wondered if even Voldemort had ventured down this path. He probably had.

She walked slowly now, her heart beating frantically with fear… and excitement. It was a quick, fleeting feeling, but it was there. It was the sort of rebellious feeling Hermione used to get when in company with Fred. It was wonderful and horrible at the same time.

Hermione then found the building she was looking for. There were one or two witches sitting around it, strange looking items in their hands, their robes ripped and dirty. She ignored them and headed to the steps that would lead her into the building. It was a musty looking place. The words LIBRARY were stuck on the top of it, but the R and Y had fallen down a long time ago, and like the many empty spots in the building where bricks used to stand, no one had bothered to replace them. Climbing the steps, Hermione found herself looking at a big brass knocker with a grotesque figure on it. She glanced at the door knob, but it seemed to be snarling, so she raised a shaky hand to the knocker instead.

As soon as her fingers brushed it, a noise only comparable but still much, much worse than that of the Golden Egg when out of water came cascading out. Instantly the watchers curled into balls, hands in their ears, or fled. But Hermione, despite the reaction to coil away as well, stood straight, for once not listening to the logical part of her brain. She was doing this for Fred. For _Fred. _

The wailing stopped. The door creaked open. Inside, Hermione could see row upon row of books… all of them old, bound, covered in dust or blood, but she knew she would find the answer here. She knew she was in the right place. A man was standing at the door. He grinned toothlessly at her. She felt her eyes widen and her lips tremble, but she refused to back down.

"I would like to use the Library," she said in a voice of forced calm. The man let out a sharp, barking cackle.

"Trying to live forever?" he questioned.

Hermione could feel fear running through her, making her body cold. The more she looked at this man, the more she didn't want to. Everything about him seemed just as scary, just as awful, as death itself. In fact… the way he stood, the way he acted, smelt… it almost reminded her of Voldemort. A shiver passed through her body. She felt like leaving. Her logical self was coming back, telling her, _run. Run and get back to your life. Fred is gone, there is nothing you can do about it._ And for the second time that day, Hermione ignored her logical self.

"Trying to bring back the dead," she said forcefully to the man, who, with a mocking glint dancing in his eyes, let her in.

The door closed with a loud BANG, echoing around the empty room. It smelt musty and something in the air reeked with Dark Magic. Hermione followed the man, who she supposed was the librarian. She and him were the only to present in the entire Library. Briefly, Hermione wondered why more dark witches and wizards did not venture in here… it did not seem that dangerous. But then again, that feeling of Dark Magic in the air… the hair on the back of her neck was standing up, and there was an ever-chilling feel around her. She wanted to leave. She knew that everyone who entered, with maybe only the librarian as an exception, felt this way, perhaps some felt feelings worse than her… she was living in a numb sort of state, after all. She had been, ever since her one love had been captured by Death.

The man lead her down an isle and she realized now that none of them were labeled. She supposed no one knew what was what or where anything was except the librarian. Hermione ran a finger along a row of books, snatching her hand back immediately as one of the books threatened to bite her finger off. She glanced nervously at the man. He laughed at her.

Scanning the books and trying to read the titles, her eye was caught on a big, redish brown one with gold words so faded they were unreadable. Only when she had taken the book into her hands did she realized that it was soaked in dried blood, but she knew the librarian was watching her, so, taking a deep breath, she walked carefully over to a nearby rotting table, placed the book down on it, slid into the chair threatening to break even under her underfed weight and opened the book.

After a moment, she glanced back, but the librarian had walked away. She was alone. With nothing but blood-covered and biting books for company.


	3. Non Iam Mortuos

_Potions cannot bring back the dead. _

SLAM!

_Inventing spells to cause death of others, traumatic memory producers and grotesque mangling torture binds – the perfect way for a twisted mind to spend a rainy day. Note: this book does teach some counter curses, but there is no way to revive someone you have killed. The dead stay dead._

SLAM!

_Although Alfred H. Schockenzier has tried to revive the dead, his attempts ended in the death of his entire family._

SLAM!

_Horance X. Crucius was never able to bring back his dead wife, but he did manage to invent one of the greatest wizarding inventions of all time – Horcruxes. _

SLAM!

Hermione slammed yet another book closed. The green-bound dusted cover still resting in front of her as she stared at its title; History Of Horance X. Crucius. For the past few hours, and she did not know how many, she had been flipping through books feverishly, in an attempt to find a way to bring back Fred. But they all said the same things.

_There is no way to bring back the dead. The dead stay dead. Death is a brutally wonderful cure to life. No one will be able to bring you back. _

Her mind was still swimming with everything she had read so far, from books about killing others, to torture books to mangling suicide series and potions for your enemies. The Library was full of just what you'd think it'd be full of. But there was nothing, _nothing_, to bring back her Fred.

And yet. Horcruxes. This last book got her thinking. Slowly, she stood up and walked carefully over to the bookshelves. Scanning the titles she came across the Horcrux section. Or at least what she hoped was the Horcrux section; lots of the book's titles weren't readable beneath the dust, blood and mold. Hermione sighed and reached up, pulling off three heavy books from the shelves and heading back to her table.

She opened the first one; _How to Create a Horcrux. _She flipped to the contents page, only to find that there was none. This book was detail upon detail about how to split your soul. She closed it.

Reaching down, she lifted a huge silver book in her arms, this one without a title. She flipped it open to where the contents would be, and saw that they were indeed there this time. Scanning her finger along them, she found one section that seemed as if it could be of use to her. _Latching your soul to another being – page 67. _And she began to read.

_When creating Horcruxes it is possible, but not probable to conjoin your soul with not an object, but a living being. If the process succeeds, both will live as long as the Horcrux is safe. The being holding the Horcrux within them will live to a great age as well as he who has made the Horcrux. Note: Horcruxes cannot be latched to a deal soul. Dead is dead and this task is one of worthlessness. A dead body will not make a safe Horcrux and it will **not** recreate the dead man's life. There is nothing to be done to retrieve the dead. _

There was another loud SLAM as the book was shoved closed by Hermione, who then took the last book in the pile. It was large and black, with two gold Runes on the front of it, which Hermione knew stood for the letters Z.O. Hermione opened the book to find no English at all, but Runes upon Runes which she translated in her mind.

_Wands, _Read the first Rune within the book. Hermione almost closed it… wondering why this book had been in the Horcrux section, but she continued to read the difficult Runes anyway. _The wand chooses the wizard is a phrase often seen – _no, _heard_, Hermione corrected herself – _in the common usage of language. The wand also possess a kind of history, as shown with Priori Incantatem. _

For another two hours Hermione read on with the book. There were no contents and the book was large, but the Runes were large too, and so she stuck with it. Eventually, as the third hour crept closer, her eyes grew wide with excitement.

_Horcruxes and wands are interconnected –_ she began to translate – _in the sense of every Horcrux made the wand remembers. This is also presented with death. Every death produced from a wand is remembered. With the simple spell, "Noniam" the deaths created by the certain wand will be reproduced in front of the caster's eyes. Only deaths will be shown. No other form of spells that the wand has cast. If a Horcrux has been created, the death of the certain victim will be represented in a brighter color, an erratic green tint will be shadowing the playback. If the death was normal, it will be replayed in black and white. Note: this spell shows only those that no longer live. It does not bring back the dead. _

SLAM!

Hermione slammed the book cover shut so hard in frustration that the noise echoed around her. Tears were stinging in her eyes, but she looked up all the same, almost as if she expected the Hogwarts Librarian to come and tell her off for making such a racket. She sat quietly for a moment, thinking hard. The thought of Hogwarts had reminded her of something else; The Half-Blood Prince.

The Half-Blood Prince had created his own spells…

Hermione scowled at herself. What was she thinking? Years ago she had scolded Harry about that book. She had said that the Half-Blood Prince was a foul, evil, good-for-nothing and potential Death Eater, wanting to do nothing but cause harm. And yet, here she was, goody-goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger, thinking of following in his footsteps.

Hermione sighed again. She knew the magic she was dealing with here ought not to be messed with. She knew it could result in her death, the death of others…

But _Fred. _Her _Fred. _

Sighing again, Hermione re-opened the book. She looked at the spell, "noniam" and thought hard and long. If she was correct, "noniam" was Latin "non iam" meaning "no longer". And this spell meant "no longer living", it was a playback of what once was… but…

Hermione almost slapped herself. "Get a grip," she whispered. "Hermione, what are you doing?" She could feel tears stinging her eyes once again as she asked this question to herself. What _was _she doing?

She was creating spells.

She was messing with nature.

She was breaking the laws of life.

She was failing to be the academic, perfect person she had always tried so hard to be.

She was doing all of this…

She _is _doing all of this…

"For Fred," Hermione whispered to herself again, "For Fred."

She bent back down over the book. Non iam. No longer… it meant no longer living… but what if she were to add 'dead' to the end of it.

Non Iam Mortuos.

No longer dead.


End file.
